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POEMS TO EM M A 



BY 



PELHAM BROMWELL. 

[ li. P; H. BROMWELL. ] 
Baltiir.crc, 1823, 1W6, Denver. 



DENVER, COLORADO 
1 919. 



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Copyriifht by Henrietta E. Biomwell, Denver, Colo. 1919. 



>ljieH printed. 



MAV -6 1 9! 9 

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Je vais ou va toute chose, 
Ou va la fbuille de rose 
Et la fcuille de laia-ie?- ! 



Arnault. 



TO EMMA. 



Briglit one of the clustering ringlets. 
Those who can thy charms may tell; 
'Tis not I who dares to breathe thee. 
Strains whose glowing thoughts may wreathe thee 
With that halo of perfections 
Which should round thy temples dwell: 
But that Heaven's own smile may bless thee. 
More than words can here express thee. 
And the Cherub's flaming buckler. 
From all harm may guard thee well. 
Is the wish that this would tell; 
And that round thee and above thee. 
Still to love thee, ever love thee. 

Spirits fairest, 

Spirits rarest. 
Spirits like thine own may dwell. 

Those that ever 
With the loved and gentle dwell. 



I'OKMa TO EMMA 

If I markpd thy queenly graces. 
If thy voice my soul did fire, 
Thoug-h of Earth its accents seem not. 
Though whence came its tones 1 deem not. 
Save from Israafel the Angel, 
He v/hose heart strings are a lyre; 
May I not these numbers broken 
OiTer at the shrine of beauty 
Even though so dim their fire ? 
Wilt thou spurn the artless token, 
Which thy charms alone inspire ? 
Wilt thou say, this graceless dreamer. 
Wherefore should he dare aspire. 
Thus to tune his paltry lyre; 
Who regards his invocations. 
Let them feed more earthly fire ! 

Even there w^here fate may lead me. 
Whatsoe'er hath Heaven decreed me. 
Still through memory's tinted vista 
Shall one radiant form appear; 



POEMS TO EMMA : 

As the Rose the waste perfuming?, 

In the green casia blooming, . 

To the moonbeam spreads its beauties, 

In the Desert v/ild and drear; 

Where the gurgling fount is flowing. 

Where the love star nightly glowing. 

Wakes the bird from out his slumbers 

On the scented jasmines near. 

Though that fate be dark and clouded. 
In mysterious darkness shrouded. 
And the \vild and stormy future 
Shows no star or beacon light; 
Like this night of gloom prevailing. 
All the holy starlight veiling, 
Like this fierce November tempest 
Echoing o'er the hills of Night, 
O'er the withered lilies sweeping. 
Where the loved and lost are sleeping. 
Sounding hoarse its dirge like chorus, 
Through the vale and o'er the hight. 



POEMS TO EMMA 

With its wailing ulla lulla 
For the lovely thing-s of ligbt. 

Thou in brighter paths shalt wander. 
Brighter far than mine below, 
Thoufi-h throug'h shifting scenes cf pleasure. 
Thou rna-yst cull the joys unmeasured. 
Which for thee unceasing grow: 
Yet when Fortune's smiles are round thee. 
And the wreathes of joy have bound thee, 
And thy heart's ovv^n wish has crowned thee 
Till thy cup of bliss o'erflow, 
Not a hope shall shine before thee, 
Not a jvoy shall Heaven shed o'er thee, 
But this hand would quickly pour thee. 
Would but Heaven the power bestow. 



A fragment, remainder is lost; 
probably written in 1857. 



"GOODNIGHT" 



GOOD NIG Ji T, 



Good night my Love, for the Queen of Night 

Looks down from her sapphire throne, 
And the t-tar that I named for thee is bright, 

On the midnight's jewelled zone. 
And thy bul bid voice, and thy light guitar, 

No longer their chords unite, 
And thy soul is av.'ay in the dream world far. 

Good night, my Love, good night. 

GoDd night my Love, I will meet thee there. 

On the shore of some magical isle, 
And the fields of enchantment shall grow more fair. 

In the light of thy love warm smile. 
Togf.thcr v/c'll roam where the vales of bliss 

Lie bathed in all rainbow light. 
Where the world of our joy has no clouds as this. 

Good ni:?ht my Love, good night. 



POEMS TO EMMA 



Good ni>;ht my Love, fur I see thy form. 

And thy tones in my heart remain; 
And my soul jfoea up, on the tune wings borne, 

I dream as I weave this strain : 
And this waking; dream shall the hours entrance. 

Till the Nig-ht God takes his flight, 
And grow brighter still in the sun's first glance. 

Good night my Love, good night. 



1857. 



NOTE; He changed this poem slightly, in 1868, 
giving it the title ''To Emma In Heaven", and 
it was published after his death. 



"HERE'S A STRAIN TO THEE" 



"H E R E' S A 8 T R A I N T O T H E E' 



Here's a strain to thee, tliough afar thou dwell. 

And my words thou not soon shalt see ; 
But more dear at last shall the things they tell. 

And the thoughts they bring to thee be. 
Here's a strain to thee, though before thy hand. 

Unseals the expected lines. 
The sun shall be thrice in the evening land. 

And thrice shall the love star shine. 



And thrice, when Night's tears on the rose 

are thrown. 
And the vales are in darkness cast; 

My soul will go out on the winds alone. 
On the wings of the midnight blast, 

They shall bear me off to a world away 
Where no shadows or tears may fall, 

And no longer in silence, or lorn I'll stray. 
Nor darkness my spirit enthrall. 



POEMS TO EMMA 



For a form there dwells, and a voice there 
rings, ^ 

And a smile ever bright I see ; 
And a charm that is wrought by no mortal 
things. 
Comes over that world and me ; 
And that world and form, and that voice and 
smile. 
Are only where thou art found : 
Whether seen by fancy when dreams beguile. 
Or truly, on mortal ground. 

Then a sti-ain, though afar from thy loved abode, 

I will breathe, and thy soul shalt hear; 
For the words of Love have a magical road. 

By which they can reach thine ear ; 
Then a strain to thee, though afar thou dwell. 

And these words thou not soon shalt see. 
For the thoughts they breathe, and the things 
they tell. 

Even now are revealed unto thee. 

1857. 



'THE WINDS HAVE GONE DOWN TO THE VALE' 



'THE WINDS HAVE GONE DOWN TO THE VALE' 



The winds have gone down to the vale, Love, 

To whifcper a song to the birds. 
Which have fallen asleep on the spray. Love, 

A song that is sweeter than words : 
The aspens that shadov/ the far hight. 

Still tremble while all is serene : 
Keeping time to the pulse of the starlight 

Which throbs in their silver and green. 



But what is the song of the bird. Love, 

Or the wind or the star-light to me? 
There's a voice which the groves never heard, 
Love, 

Which comes to my spirit from thee. 
There's a 8tar which is brighter and nearer 

Than those which are shining above : 
And its light, ever purer and dearer. 

Is cast from the eyes that I love. 



POEMS TO EMMA 



The North-light is streaming on high Love, 

And bathing the hills with its fire; 
And the stars of the pole quit the sky Love, 

The lamps of Orion retire ; 
The banners of flame and vermilion 

Sweep down the dark shadows of night ; 
Till the arch of the midnight's pavilion. 

Is vested with curtains of light. 

But what is the north-fire to me. Love ; 

Or its standards of jacinth and flame ! 
Its splendors as suddenly flee. Love, 

Its beauties dissolve as they came ; 
There's a light that unceasingly shining. 

Still chases the midnight for me : 
And this love-light, which knows no declin- 
ing. 

My constant aurora shall be. 

1857. 



"OH SING NOT THIS STRAIN" 



T O E M M A 



O, sin2 not this strain wi\en thy bosom is li«:ht, 

And thy sky ia all brightness alone : 
\Vhen silver shod Love leads in paths of deliyrht. 

And my voice is a love breathin?^ tone : 
Let it locked in thy memory silently be, 

A souvenir cherished alone ; 
To speak of the hours when my love was on thee, 

As the odors of Araby thrown. 

But should sorrow come down on thy fond beating 
heart, 
And the sunlight of joy disappear. 
And the love smile should seem from my brow 
to depart. 
And my voice should grow cold to thy ear : 
Then sing me the strain that I breathe to thee now. 

And a charm from its numbers shall flow ; 
And my heart strings repeat the heaven registered 
vov/. 
Which was sealed in my spirit below. 



POEMS TO EMMA 



And the words to my breast shall hke spirits 
descend. 
And the voice of its passions control ; 
And the chords of affection their melodies blend, 

In the innermost cell of my soul. 
And Love shall draw near with his seraphim 
wings. 
And fan the dim embers to flame ; 
And thy heart shall confess in the transport 

he brings. 
That thy loved one still loves thee the same. 



THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND. 



THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND. 



The voice of the Night-wind was low in the vale, 
The tears of the mountain phlox scented tne sjale. 
When a voice all of melody plaintively swept 
Thro' the dell where the spikenard and silver-bell 
slept. 

Singing, thus forever 

Wanders he away 

Wlierefore should he never 

Near my bosom stay ? 

What are Love's entwinings. 

Since they bind in vain? 

Only sad repinings 
Unto me remain. 



POEMS TO EMMA 



Then answered the voice of some echo-like strain, 
Far off on the hill side which shadowed the plain ; 
O sigh not lovsd maiden, the heart that has flown. 
Still throbs in the distance for Emma alone. 

Ever throbbing, ever. 

As the chords above. 

Which vibrate forever 

To the touch of Love. 

Soft elastic pinions 

Bind thy wand'rer still 

Throughout Love's dominions. 

Wander where he will. 



TO E M M A 



Emma, now the storm-wind murmurs lowly. 

To the smitten flowers. 
And the pale stars keep their vigil holy 

Through the silent hours. 

Now the day, to other lands returning 

Leaves us to the night. 
With her tapers distant, dimly burning, 

On the cerule hight. 

Earth's dark mother now her sombre curtain. 
O'er her children throws 

Tossed no more by cares uncertain. 
One and all repose. 

Emma, now the sleep-god's silken pinions. 
Bind thy star like eyes 

And thy spirit seeks the fair dominions 
Where the dream world lies. 



28 POEMS TO EMMA 



Sleep my love, the angel hands are oV>r thee, 
Weaving all thy dreams, 

Gilding all the vision land before thee. 
With celestial beams. 

Blessings on thy virtue and thy beauty 

On thy spotless love 

Ever walking hand in hand with duty. 

Like to theirs above. 

Heaven will surely grant its kind protection 

To thy gentle form. 
Shielding all thy heart buds of affection. 

From the cold and storm. 

Night shall charge her hours to kiss thee 
sweetly. 
Till the dawn arise, 
And the gold fledged sunbeams hast'ning 
fleetly 
Pierce thy brighter eyes. 



POEMS TO EMMA 29 



Sleep my Love, the one who wakes to bless 
thee, 

Soon with clasping arms. 
Comes again with rapture to caress thee. 

With thy wealth of charms. 



SON G. 



There's brig-htness everywhere 
When the heart is glad. 
There's music in each air. 
When the heart is glad. 
And the stream of life is fair. 
And the waves our vessels beai-, 
'Mong the rosy islands there. 
When the heart is glad. 

There's darkness all around. 

When the heart is sad. 

There's discord in each sound. 

When the heart is sad. 

And the stream of Hfe goes round. 

In a fatal circle bound, 

Where but rocks and shoals abound, 

When t'ne heart is sad. 



POEMS TO EMMA. 



When thy heart is near to mine, 

Then my heart is glad : 

When my eye can rest on thine. 

Then my heart is glad 

And an influence all benign 
On my heart begins to shine. 
And this life is all divine. 
For my heart is glad, 

But thy form is far away. 

And my heart is sad : 

And there falls no loving ray 

On my heart that's sad ; 

And I loathe the dreary day. 

And the scenes thro' which I stray. 

And the airs that round me play. 

For my heart is sad. 

1858. 



'THE ROSE OF CORYDON' 



C O K Y D O N ROSE. 



The rose of Shiras, the Nightingale's bride. 
Unfolds its charms 'mid the bowers of pride. 
When the dews come down through the moon- 
light pure. 
Which floats o'er the gardens of Koh-i-zur, 
Though sweet on the breezes its odors flow. 
By the golden channels of Hin-doo-koh, 
Let it bloom for those who its charms may 

see, 
For the rose of Shiraz is naught to me. 

The lillies of Paz float fair on the stream. 
When the echoes sleep and the wood-nymphs 

dream. 
And wave their fi'ontlets of midnight pearls 
To the brighter eyes of the Chilian girls ; 
Yet not for me do their beauties shine, 
Nor yet for this doth my heart repine : 
Let them bloom for others, though fair they be. 
For rose or lily is naught to me. 



POEMS TO EMMA. 



Thoug-h lone I dwell, where no scented lls-wer. 
Adorns a wreath for my leafless bower, 
I think not of beauties in nature's fields, 
I sigh not for charms which the wild-wood yields. 
But I think upon beauties more rich and rare, 
I sig'h for the bloom of a plant more fair ; 
And while I its image in dreams may see, 
The beauties of Earth are as naught to me. 

But dreams alone cannot fill the heart. 

And visions but vanishing joys impart ; 

I would gather my flower to my heart and arms, 

I would grace my bower with its living charms, 

I would dwell in the circle it renders divine. 

And no heart upon Earth should be near but thine 

Then come, my "Cory don Rose," and be. 

Beauty, and blessing, and life to me. 

1857. 



This poem was printed in iy09, with the Song of 
the Wahbeek. 



'A GOLDEN CLOUD SHE PASSED ME BY. 



A golden cloud she passed me by, 
Not pausing in her bright career ; 
Nor wave of hand, nor glance of eye. 
Intended to repreas or cheer 
Evinced a thought that 1 was near. 

Eve'd rosy hues were all abroad. 
Light lay serene on field and wold ; 
Its brightness aa the smile of God 
Zoned all the earth in lucent gold ; 
And pleasure which all hearts did bear, 
Beamed in the light of every face ; 
Except that sadness came to share 
The scene vv'ith me, — for all the grace 
Held something mournful in its trace. 
What boots it who might pass or stay? 
Yet loving hearts that come and go. 
May know not of their gentle sway ; 
As passing ships that never know. 
Nor heed the waves they cause to flow. 



C 32 89 >'^Ji 








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